Red Cobra
by Billybobjoe47s
Summary: Last time the UNSC discovered a mysterious alien artifact, the Halos came within seconds of activating. Every problem the UNSC has had in the last 50 years has been because of aliens and their blasted artifacts. So when a newly-surveyed system holds a mysterious artifact, there is great cause for worry. Operation RED COBRA is intended to remedy that worry- by any means necessary.
1. Red Cobra

Throughout Citadel space, there are dozens of unactivated relays. The activation of one was a rare occurrence, happening only once or twice a century, and for good reason—the Rachni were once on the other side of an unactivated Mass Relay. Another famous example was the Omega-4 Relay—through which no one had ever returned.

Then, too, there was Relay 314.

It had been activated several years ago, in hopes of finding a garden world, and those hopes were rewarded—there was indeed a pristine planet, ready for colonizing, on the other side.

But things quickly went awry. The first colonizers set up camp, began to construct the capital city—and promptly disappeared without a trace between patrols, several months in. There were no distress signals, no signs of weapons fire, and no survivors. Not a clue.

Another colony was sent, with a large military component, in hopes of fending off whatever had destroyed the small, lightly-defended first attempt. The result was the same. Even with a cruiser hovering in orbit, ready to provide assistance at the slightest hint of trouble, nothing was detected. The sun went down on a prosperous colony, just beginning to sink its roots into the soil.

The sun rose on a ghost town.

Any further attempts were promptly abandoned, and a permanent fleet was put in orbit to ensure that no ships ever rose from its surface—keeping the threat, as it were, from ever entering orbit.

Then, of course, there were the ghost transports. Over the space of a month, the Mass Relay was activated 7 times. Of those 7, 2 were officially recognized. 1 was a pirate, looking for a new hidey-hole. The other 4 had no ship on either end initiating the relay, but they went through all the motions of activation.

Some theorized that it was the Relays, perhaps calibrating after something had slightly altered the path of one of the pair. Most, however, just saw it as ghosts—perhaps the same ghosts that had obliterated two colonies without a trace—finally going to their resting place.

On a possibly related note, many systems reported rumors of 'ghost ships' which blinked into view on scanners for a second, maybe two, and then disappeared without a trace. Again, the accepted explanation was sensor ghosts caused by malfunctioning equipment.

Unfortunately, none of the explanations for either phenomenon was right, and the Citadel was about to encounter something new—something that hid in the shadows and the blackness, never showing its face or drawing attention.

_ June 21, 2560_

Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood, head of the United Nations Space Command and, therefore, the second-most powerful person in human space (after the President of the UEG), frowned again as he went over the latest reports from Operation Red Cobra. The project was only in its infancy, the object which allowed for its creation only found a year ago, but its scope was grand and its impact big. Dangerously big; while its reports offered a gold mine for information and technology developments, the ramifications of exactly where those developments were coming from were extremely worrisome.

At least it wasn't illegal on top of all of his other concerns, but it was a fleeting consolation. If anything from this leaked to anyone, the consequences would be disastrous. Easily several times worse then the SPARTAN debacle and arguably as bad as the Kilo-Five incident.

Luckily, the _UNSC Ghost in the Code_ had finished its stellar mapping and quasar locking (and it had taken quite some time, given with the complete lack of stellar references other than quasars), so the use of Artifact 1-0001 was no longer needed, which made for one less ulcer eating at him.

ONI, despite the recent purges, and Kilo-Five and the subsequent rebuttal of their recent modus operandi, was still a little too independent for his liking. He'd gotten the report on the project the day of its creation, at least (or gotten it at all), which was a step beyond the old ways, but he'd gotten the report proposing its creation—after the first prowler had already been sent through.

With that, it had been too late to cancel it, and he'd allowed it, reluctantly. With the mapping done, however, the artifacts were no longer needed, eliminating the most dangerous moments of compromisation. Now, ships could simply travel directly there.

He signed the report at the bottom, placed his thumb on the scanner, and enunciated, "Terrence Hood." The datapad beeped, accepting his credentials.

And now, with the just-approved batch of Stellar Cartography AI's, shepherded by a new 7th-gen Smart AI, as their survey of the nearby stars began and distances determined, none of the other artifacts would be needed either.

He scrolled to the next report, also a request from Red Cobra. This request, however, was much bigger. And stranger.

"Why on Earth would they want a Phoenix-class?" Surely there was a better option than one of the obsolete former colony ships, converted to planetary assault vessels, which were only still in service because the UNSC was still a largely gutted force! Even then, they were relegated to Insurrectionist suppressal and colony defense, as they were far too old and underpowered even by Covenant-war standards to refit to newer standards. Plans called for them all to be scrapped in the next five years.

He scrolled to their justifications, interested in why ONI would request such an eclectic ship. ONI dealt in the cutting-edge, not the obsolescent. As he did so, he reached back for his mug of early-morning coffee. He'd probably need it—there were a dozen more reports that couldn't wait, and at least a hundred more which he needed to read and sign today. Such were the woes of the supreme administrator in the navy.

The next paragraph made him regret that decision as he promptly spewed out his drink.

"They want to do WHAT?"


	2. Crimson Ostrich

Carefully, he set his cup down and paged for an aide to come mop the mess up. Then, he returned to the datapad, scrutinizing each word with his full faculties. With stellar cartography now a possibility, ONI was certainly not thinking small.

They wanted a Phoenix-class for its original purpose—colonization, not invasion. Initial surveys of the few systems near the Artifacts indicated that the race—or races, for the jury was still out after so short a time—which used the Artifacts relied on them heavily. They obviously used some other sort of FTL, but current estimates showed it to be slower—possibly significantly slower—than current-gen S-F drives. Nearby systems not connected to the Artifact web were colonized, but only in systems with what appeared to be pre-existing terrestrial worlds or containing extremely valuable resources. Barren systems had no presence at all, and indeed seemed to be ignored entirely.

ONI's plan was based on this premise, that the xenos lacked good terraforming technology and were thus restricted to worlds that were already life-supporting or close to it. They proposed that a resource-rich system, with a world amenable to terraforming but lacking a native garden world, be found and that the Phoenix-class be dispatched to terraform and colonize it, accompanied by a suitable fleet to ensure security. Then, a forward base for operations within Artifact space would be established, covertly out-of-sight. The report was extremely well-written, extolling the virtues of using old, obsolescent ship classes for the purpose and conserving resources.

But this was far too soon. Far, far too soon. For heaven's sakes, Red Cobra had only begun three months ago! Stellar placement had occurred yesterday. Yesterday! And already, the spooks had a report written up!? How long had they been planning this, Hood wondered. Knowing them, probably since day one.

The report concluded artfully, followed by some more specs for specialists to verify. Hood had once been a specialist in his day, though, and while he was a bit behind, the shorthand language they typed in was still the same.

He let out a sigh of relief, seeing the proposed timeline. Although the Phoenix was to be refitted and equipped immediately, and a security fleet was to be formed in a month, the most optimistic timeline called for earliest deployal in a year, with worst-case outlines at five years. So, they wouldn't be rushing into this one.

It also called for a doubling of the density of the stealth shaped-warhead charges surrounding the mass relay in the Shanxi system, as well as a permanent stationing of two prowlers and the _UNSC Point of No Return_—another artful use of resources, as the blasted thing was certainly not going back to ONI. Their upper echelons would now stay firmly on Earth, right where he could see them. As of now, it was the only stealthed ship manned not by ONI personnel, but UNSC naval crewmen.

The whole thing still felt too hasty for him, but the built-in delays in the operation schedule were greatly reassuring. Still, if it was up to him alone, he would've deferred the proposal another six months before even considering it. Unfortunately, something this big went to the Security Council, not him alone, and he was sure that the ONI head would vote for it.

And the General, too, sheep that he was. Two out of six, already.

All in all, if it came down to his vote, he conceded that he wouldn't be averse to the proposal. There were quite a few benefits to the proposal, after all, and even if the risky nature in regards to the new xenos turned his stomach, it would also be secure from any threats in this neck of the woods.

He stood with a sigh as his aged bones creaked in protest. It would do no good to put the vote off; it could wreck his schedule now, or it could wreck it later, and Hood had never been a procrastinator.

He hit the comms button on his desk, and his personal AI, Ares, popped into holographic being, his spear and armored form glowing olive-green. "I take it this has to do with the Hideaway proposal?" he queried.

"Yes," Hood nodded. "Please call for a meeting of the Security Council, ASAP, for a vote on it."

"Done," Ares replied. "Also, Lord Hood, the proposal has been given the codename Crimson Ostrich."

Hood made a face. "That's a terrible codename. Can't it be changed?"

"Talk about it at the meeting, sir," Ares said. "Large-scale operation alteration isn't allowed by AI's."

"Even for the name?" Hood pleaded, as he put on his jacket.

"Even for the name, sir."

"Remind me to discuss that, too," the admiral said as he opened his door. "I need to be able to tell you to change codewords to something that's not god-awful whenever I feel like it. There's a new ONI, and it needs a new way of naming operations besides 'what's the strangest, wordiest, and least appealing way to name important things.'" He walked down the hall, nodding to his guards as they fell in alongside him.

He stepped into the elevator at the hall, pressed his thumb into the scanner, and stated once more, "Terrence Hood." There were only three buttons on the elevator's panel: one led to the ground floor, where he entered and exited every day. Another led to this floor, securely located six floors below the roof (it wasn't on the top floor because it was all too easy to grapple on top of buildings or to land a small craft on the roof, and the six floors between his floor and the roof, which just happened to be an ODST urban warfare training ground which was always occupied with soldiers using live ammunition, provided that extra cushion).

Today, he pressed the third. "Down we go," he muttered.

The Bunker, as the High-Security VIP Glassing Shelter in the basement of the tower was known, was a stark concrete room, far below the surface. Its only entrance was a ten-foot Titanium-A door, guarded by no less then a full platoon of ODST's and 3 AI's. Inside was a full strategic setup, intended for Lord Hood or his successors to coordinate the defense of Earth, while remaining hidden and secure from enemy forces.

The holoprojector sputtered to life as he entered, and Ares appeared in its glow. "Three are already linked in, sir," he reported. "ETA on the other two is less than 5."

"Good, good," Hood approved, sitting down into his armchair, the only comfort allowed in the room. "Link me in." Idly, he pricked his finger and placed it on the scanner.

"DNA confirmed, sir. Linking you now."

The six-seated table was suddenly filled with three other holographic forms. Within a few seconds, a fourth fizzled in.

"Good morning," Hood said, nodding to the others. "We'll begin as soon as the President logs in."

As if summoned, the President of the UEG logged in that very moment. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen!" he beamed. "Let's get this over with quickly, shall we?"

The others nodded, as did Hood. None of them liked screwing up their schedule for Security Council meetings, but it was necessary.

He looked at the five other people which wielded the most power out of any beings in the galaxy, other than the Arbiter of Sangheilos. There was the commanding officer of all UNSC colonial ground forces and the Army, General Abraham Peyton. Next was the head logistics man and economic advisor, Doctor Adam Vey. Thirdly, there was the head of ONI, the newly-instated Admiral Ina Janson, replacement for the treasonous Parangosky and her protégé Osman.

Then there was him. Together, they were the military side of the Security Council. The fifth member was the head diplomat for the UEG, Doctor Elise Phelps, in charge of all contact with the former Covenant races. Finally, there was the nominal head of the council, the President of the UEG, Nick Sanchez. They made up the civilian oversight side of the Security Council.

Sanchez looked down at his datapad. "I'm assuming that you called this meeting because of the Crimson Ostrich proposal, Admiral Hood?"

"Yes, Mr. President." Hood cleared his throat. "Given its timeline, I thought that it should be voted on as soon as possible." He leaned back, preparing himself for the inevitable debate. "Any suggestions?"

Phelps was the first one to take the plunge. "I still insist that we should attempt to make peaceful contact before making such a potentially-provocative move," she said. "I've been getting stonewalled for three months, but this proposal is just a step too far."

Jansen immediately replied, "It's obvious already that this race takes warfare seriously, based on initial scans of ships classes. Admittedly, they are very small ships, but there are a lot of the things. If first contact doesn't go well, we could very well have another Covenant War on our hands. In that case, we need a well-established forward base for offensive operations."

The general butted in, "If we are going to make contact, we have to be in a position of power first. If we don't have some way of taking the fight to them, we'll be in a similar position to the entire Covenant War, able only to react rather than act."

Doctor Vey nodded in agreement. "Initial scans of the Artifact, before we were forced to discontinue active investigations, indicated that it works using some unknown compound with interesting properties, and it certainly appears that the systems Red Cobra has infiltrated ha the same compound in abundance. If we could find a similar system with sufficient quantities to experiment on, I'm confident that we'll be able to find some good uses for it. In addition, the proposal gives a better way to utilize aging ships and resources then melting them down for scrap. I vote for the proposal."

His two backers quickly agreed with him, and Hood leaned back. So Logistics was in on the plan too—indeed, it looked like he was spearheading the effort. Whatever this compound was, they wanted it bad. He typed a note on his pad to have Ares mark all future reports on said compound as high-priority.

Sanchez closed his eyes for a moment. "While I see where you are coming from, don't we have a full grid set up around the Artifact of SHIVA's? Surely that's enough security to cork that bottleneck and allay your fears."

"We know that the xenos use at least one other form of FTL, which doesn't appear to be slipspace," Jansen rebutted. "Until we know how fast that method is, we can't risk assuming that the Artifact is the only assault vector."

His brows furrowed in thought. "True." With a sigh, he put his face in his hands. "I'm not going to rule out diplomatic contact, pending further developments in Red Cobra, but there's too much riding on this to keep ourselves limited to one option. I'm voting for it, as well."

Hood's eyebrows rose in surprise. The President was breaking with the diplomat; a rare occurrence if there was one. His vote wouldn't even be needed; the majority decision had been made already.

"Fine," Elise said curtly, before cutting the channel without so much as a goodbye. Sanchez looked at her empty spot for a moment, and frowned. "Now that that's decided, I've got to go patch things up with Mrs. Phelps," he said, standing. "I'll see you next week." He, too, disconnected.

As the two civilians left, Hood looked to Jansen. "I'll go along with this, but I want two things."

"What?" she asked warily.

"First, I want a NOVA in the nuke field," Hood said brusquely. "If something big, something we didn't see coming, pops out of that artifact, I want to be sure we can kill it."

"Done," she replied instantly. "Second?"

"There was no mention of ground force composition in ONI's report," he said. "What force levels did you have in mind? Are there any unique assets you wanted deployed?"

"Oh, that," Vey said with a smile. "Rest assured, I've got enough leeway to send a company of S-IV's with Crimson Ostrich. I was thinking that we send X-Ray, right out of Basic, along with a few veterans to keep them in line."

"And who did you have in mind?" Hood asked. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"Why, who else then the best?" Vey replied, with a smile. "Don't worry, our force levels are finally high enough that we can afford to deploy some high-level assets on long-term missions."

The Fleet Admiral's face creased into a smile. "You've got a deal," he said warmly. "If they can't keep this thing afloat, nothing can." With a motion, he cut the connection and leaned back. "Ares, remind me to find some time to talk to Tom. He might not be happy to get his asset stolen next year."

"Yes, sir."

_A/N: So, I was fed up with the usual "Haloverse finds artifact, sends a very small fleet to survey it next to their new colony, and First Contact War ensues" Mass Effect-Halo xovers, and the formulaic way EACH and EVERY one unfolds, (with the exception of two or three, which are the ones I actually followed/faved) the exact same way. There's no way the UNSC would be that stupid. After the Covenant War, their only response would be overwhelming force whenever possible. And extreme caution. So I'm taking this crossover a different way. Also, there will be very little Council-bashing nor Eezo-power bashing- Both sides have significant advantages, so it will not be a curbstomp for either side, unless it's through tactical or strategic surprise. No tech-stomping here._


	3. Stalking Horse

_A/N:Wow, you guys. I'm just... blown away by the response to this. 3,000 views in 48 hours? Thanks for reading this. I was so impressed I completely ignored my other stories (I usually write on a rotating schedule between stories, so be warned it will not be updated every two days normally) to write this as a thank-you._

_Enjoy!_

_UNSC Security Council Minutes, June 29, 2560_

_ This data is classified under the National Security Act. Attempts to access, view, distribute, or otherwise edit this file from unauthorized sources will be prosecuted for treason._

_ Password: **********************_

_ Authorizing…_

_ Access Granted._

1: Now that we're back to the normal weekly schedule of meetings, what's on the docket today?

4: Analysts have come up with a small-scale series of operations that could enhance our intelligence-gathering capabilities in regards to the xenos considerably. There are three distinct parts, which I've taken the liberty to title Operations Stalking Horse, Rosetta Stone, and Hitchhiker.

The latter two are based exclusively on Stalking Horse, so I'll get down to the details of that first.

To put it simply, ladies and gentlemen, we need data from inside xeno systems. We have sensor data—loads of the stuff—but without some way to interpret it, it's so much gibberish and raw binary. We need ship stats, planetary details, star maps, essentially everything. Most important, however, is the language. I'm confident that with a sufficient amount of linguistic binary data, our AI's can get a translator running, and then we can worry about other sets of data.

To that end, Stalking Horse proposes a stealth insertion of an operative onto the surface of one of the picket ships in the Shanxi system. With the operative will be a designated EW/DT AI, who will covertly access the public mainframes onboard, transmit the data, and then begin work on any classified or encrypted data in the system.

5: How can we ensure that they aren't detected on their way in? That would be a rather large giveaway that we exist.

3: I see the benefits, but it is very risky.

4: Indeed it is, and because of that, we've built some basic precautions into the mission. First, we'll be using the new-gen active camo systems we, eh, "borrowed" from the Sangheili labs. We've got enough fabricated we can use one of the prototypes on the mission. As you know from prior briefings, while the module is shorter-lived and much bulkier then previous generations, it also cuts the telltale infrared emissions of the system by over ninety percent. Coolant systems in the specialized insertion armor we're designing will increase that time by half. This offers a significantly higher chance of avoiding detection. As well, the EW AI will be giving off calibrated emissions designed to mimic universal background emissions.

Thirdly, there will be an automatic self-destruct sequence coded into every piece of the operation. Should the operative be detected or the field breaks, the suit will self-destruct. Should a xeno transponder come too close to the surface probe for the AI or the AI is detected, it will also self-destruct after sending all results in a data burst. Insertion will be via Prowler, jumping in extrasolar and going dark beyond the gas giant's orbit. Insertion will also be unpowered to avoid emissions.

6: What's the approximate cost of this operation?

4: We're looking at no more than a few hundred thousand credits—quantities of equipment are small, and while expensive, they are all items we already have fabricated and in inventory.

2: I assume that the operative will be a volunteer?

4: *pause* Of course. Shall we vote?

VOTES TALLIED: 3 AYE, 3 NAY

Vote thrown to [7]

After 13.6 seconds of deliberation, [7] votes AYE. 7 designates EW/DT 12238420-01 "Houdini" for operation. Reason stated: Rampancy time estimated at 6 months from vote date. Efficient use of resources soon to be terminated in any case.

Operation Stalking Horse activated.

4: With that out of the way, we can move onto the following two projects. Rosetta Stone is nothing more than a classified assignment of several linguistics AI's and experts to interpret the data we receive from Stalking Horse. I assume there are no objections to that?

2: No.

1: No.

6: I have none.

No objections noted. Operation Rosetta Stone activated.

4: Now, Hitchhiker is arguably the most risky. Assuming that Stalking Horse is not terminated, there will be a secure conduit for transfer of a group EW/DT AI's into the ship systems. These AI's will lay low until the ship is rotated back to its home system for R&R, upon which one AI will begin to infiltrate planetary or space-station servers. Assuming this goes as planned, the other AI's will infiltrate other public servers and begin transmitting superluminal data towards Hideaway. If one is discovered, they will immediately self-terminate without data-bursts to avoid triangulation of Hideaway's position.

3: What types of servers would infiltration be attempted on? Public servers only? Or classified and encrypted data from ostensible military and governmental sources?

4: All public servers would be transmitted before any encrypted servers are to be attempted; that way we'll be sure to get a significant fraction of public data before our assets are terminated.

2: So, our AI's will simply be logging into their version of the internet and downloading everything in sight?

4: Essentially, yes.

2: I see no objections with downloading public data. But accessing their military and governmental files is certainly an act of war should they discover it. Perhaps it would be best to avoid provocation… at least until Hideaway is well underway. To that, I propose that Hitchhiker be implemented with the modification to go after public files only.

6: Even with that restriction, we'll be spending a lot of time and resources trying to interpret even a fraction of the data we'll get, if our own networks are any indication. I think it would be wise to limit our efforts until we have a viable Rosetta product and we can separate the wheat from the chaff… or, say, the star maps from the null-grav wrestling.

1: I'm going to side with [2] here.

VOTE CALLED

Aye 4, Nay 2

Hitchhiker amended.

VOTE CALLED

Aye 6, Nay 0

Hitchhiker activated.

1: This meeting is adjourned. Until next week, ladies and gentlemen.

Operation: Stalking Horse

Progress: Stealth Prowler insertion successful. Upon questioning, [REDACTED] volunteered for the operation, given callsign BRONCO. Operative BRONCO release successful, currently on path to target. Arrival time: 4 hours.

"Shoot," BRONCO muttered as he lost his game of virtual chess… again. He'd lasted two more moves than last time, but that only made 20 moves. BRONCO was a good chess player… but he was human.

And as an ASCII laughing face popped up on his text screen, his conqueror rejoiced in its latest victory. "Yeah, laugh it up, Houdini," he muttered sourly. "It's not like you've got an unfair advantage or anything."

An amused, slightly Italian voice chimed back, "You were the one who suggested chess, sir. It's your fair desserts."

BRONCO grumbled good-naturedly. "After four hours of drifting in the endless black, even chess with an AI sounds good," he admitted. "When I volunteered for this, I was expecting it to be less… boring."

"I'm sure we'll have all the excitement we want on the close-in approach," Houdini suggested. "Even the current calculations, after so long drifting, will be a bit off. I'll have to use the jets to course correct enough to land in the designated spot while not enough to break the camo field—which is still a prototype, and therefore uncertain as to disturbance tolerances— and spark anything's interest. Is that razor's edge exciting enough for you?" A big question mark appeared on his visor, covering up nearly his entire field of vision (not that it mattered, because right now all he could see, feet-first towards the planet and the small fleet above it, was stars).

"Don't remind me," BRONCO sighed. "Why did I volunteer for this in the first place?"

"Would you like to play another game of chess while I recalculate our angles, sir?" Houdini asked, ignoring the question and thereby truly proving his intelligence.

"I think I'm going to stick to a few games of solitaire for now," BRONCO confided. "Maybe later."

"Aye, sir."

"Beginning final corrections in sixty seconds, sir," Houdini said. "Please brace yourself and make peace with whatever deities you believe in."

"Shut up."

With a hiss, a small nozzle opened near his hip, spitting a small quantity of near-solid O2. He began to drift slowly in the corrected course, other jets bringing him upright and facing the ships, able to see them now as small specks in the distance. For a moment, the field currently keeping him invisible rippled, becoming like clear water, but then it quickly stabilized again.

They were rapidly growing, silhouetted against the planet, and within minutes he was close enough to make out details of the ships.

"Final insertion appears to be successful. Is your will all laid out, sir?"

"Stop with the wit, Houdini, or I'll disable your vocal processors."

"Three minutes until impact. Please calm your breathing, sir, you're using up too much oxygen."

They indeed looked rather predatory, smoother than UNSC ships but more angular than the Covenant's, almost a mix between the two. It had a distinctly avian feel to the ship—the overall shape was like some bird of prey, swooping down from the heavens.

It was still a rather small ship, by UNSC standards, but compared to one man and his AI, drifting through the cosmos, it was a colossus that quickly took up the entirety of his vision.

He was aiming for the junction between the 'wing' of the ship and the main body. Passive scans indicated what looked like external maintenance ports for some kind of system on the wing. His job was simply to jack Houdini into the systems, place the data storage and burst comm system somewhere out of sight and unlikely to be found, and then get out of Dodge, drifting for another few hours before a stealth Pelican would pick him up and take him to the Prowler, which would promptly turn tail and head for the outer system to jump out.

"Impact in one minute, sir," Houdini stated. "Taking control of nanofiber weave. Please bring your arms forward and cease hyperventilation."

BRONCO complied with the first, and as his arms hit a certain position, his suit locked, placing him in the ideal position to absorb the shock of his landing.

Before he knew it, the ship was there, right in front of his face, and with a terrible jerk, he hit the ship, suit unlocking. His hands and feet scrabbled for some kind of handhold, but the surface of the ship was nearly entirely sheer, besides the maintenance ports—there was nothing to grab onto, and he began to angle away from the ship as his bounce sent him back into the void.

"No, no no!" he screamed as he flailed, looking for anything to hold on. "Houdini, bring us back in, quick!"

"That brings that risk of detection to unacceptably high levels," Houdini stated calmly. "This mission is aborted."

The operative's blood ran cold. He knew what that meant. "Current vector?"

"We will not be able to be picked up before your oxygen is depleted, sir," Houdini replied apologetically. "My condolences."

_"Damn!"_ he spat. Frantically, he eyeballed the angle to the slowly receding ship. "Screw that," he raged, bringing his hand down and smacking the small gas nozzle on his leg. It broke and began to spew gases, as a blinking warning sign and a strident beep began to call out damage in his helmet. The active camo visibly flickered in his display, but it didn't break.

He shot towards the ship, pinwheeling slightly, as Houdini protested, "Sir, you're jeopardizing the mission!"

"No, I'm saving it," he gritted out, teeth clenched against the force.

This time, he smacked into the edge of the wing, hard. His breath whooshed out and he felt something in his chest cave as pain spiked through his lungs. His suit helpfully informed him he'd broken three ribs, and further movement risked puncturing a lung.

The jet's pressure kept him from skipping off the hull this time, instead pushing him along it in a spin, and finally his grasping fingers found a small crevice to halt his movement, though as he revolved around his new anchor, a painful jerk and another screen informed him he'd just dislocated a finger and broken two others.

The jet ceased, its gas reservoir depleted, and BRONCO simply lay there for a moment, clenching his teeth, as the suit began to administer first aid, stiffening his glove joints and injecting anesthetics. "Shut up, Houdini, and scratch the self-termination sequence," he said.

The AI's only reply was a picture of pursed lips and a music note rendered in ASCII. "What sequence?"

BRONCO barked a laugh. "That's right." Carefully, he crawled over the slick surface of the ship, visor polarizing even more as the sun came into view. "There's the maintenance port now," he muttered, drawing near after an agonizing minute of clambering along its surface, fingers throbbing with every handhold and chest burning with every breath.

He waited for a moment, panting (the suit, in order to provide sufficient stealth, space maneuverability, and oxygen, was quite heavy, stiff, and unwieldy; even in zero-grav, moving around in it was an ordeal), before grabbing the AI's chip with his good hand and slapped it onto the port. The specialized miniature probe in the infiltrator chip quickly connected directly to the wiring within, and Houdini exclaimed, "That's it, connection set. Get out of here, sir!"

"Copy that," BRONCO said, carefully nestling the small transmitter in the shadowed corner of the panel. Then, without further ado, he hastily aligned his suit with the animated recommended vector and pushed off. Only then did he notice a new message flashing.

Opening it, he was greeted with a large ASCII thumbs-up and an attachment labeled "Do Not Open; Give to Superior."

"What's with the ASCII?" he mumbled as he drew away, floating back into the endless void.

"Eight more hours to go… Joy."

The solitaire program reopened.

TO: HAWK

FROM: COLT

_ Stalking Horse operational success._

_ Note: Mission nearly aborted when unanticipated slickness of xeno ship surface prevented a handhold on contact. BRONCO broke protocol to gain a second chance, but it paid off. Houdini successfully delivered; data packets already incoming._

_ Recommendations: Operative showed patience, intelligence, and a willingness to break the right rules. In addition, operative sustained injuries while in the line of duty. Award one (1) Purple Heart. Promote to permanent field officer from position [REDACTED]._

MISSION LOG END

_ A/N: Already, I've had multiple reviews which insisted that the Halo side would crush the Mass Effect side with superior technology. I have this to say about that._

_ First, the date is 2560. That's barely 7 years out of having well over half of the humanity's planets, infrastructure and population destroyed in the most catastrophic war any nation has come out of still a nation. 7 years is also barely enough time to have a research-design-prototype-testing-production-deployment cycle for large warships, and the UEG was too busy rebuilding SMACs and ensuring that no one starved (because, you know, most of the agricultural outer planets are now radioactive wastelands) while trying to keep the decimated economy struggling along, and suppressing insurrections at the same time._

_ Plus, while the UEG and the Arbiter are on good (meaning neither cold nor hot war, though relations could be called "barely tolerable") terms, there are plenty of splinter factions of the Covenant with the firepower and the will to be a danger to human planets. More on specific factions, species, and relations later._

_ All of this means that while the UNSC may (MAY) have better cutting-edge tech, it's only around in small numbers, as nearly the entire previous generation of ships was destroyed at Reach and Earth and they're only now barely beginning to put new-gen ships out of the factories. Which means, at the moment, they're using clunker ships (all they have) to defend their worlds and keeping the new-gens close to their chest (Read: sitting around Earth to protect it)._

_ More on tech balances of both sides next chappie._


	4. Surgical Insertion

"Off we go, into the black again," Admiral Pyetrson muttered. "Just like old times, eh?" The retrofitted holoprojector sparked to life, and as her holographic form materialized, a cool soprano replied, "That may be the case for you, Admiral, but this is a first for me. Unless you count simulations, of course."

A tall, confident woman stood on the podium, her blue form contrasted by the navy-blue, almost black uniform she sported, covered in a chestful of medals. None of those medals were real, and the uniform did not belong to any navy which had ever sailed, but it was recreated in loving detail, down to the piping on the cuffs. "Course set to the rendezvous, sir. ETA 1 hours. Also, the Governor is waiting outside for you."

"Thank you, Honor," the old Admiral said as he levered himself to his feet, but then he thought better of it and returned to his chair. "On second thought, could you just let him in? I'm getting too old to go walking around a lot."

"You're barely seventy, Admiral," Honor chided, even as she allowed the bridge doors to slide open and the planetary governor to enter. "You've got a good decade of running around yet."

"Come to relive your glory days, Governor?" he asked, not moving from his gazel over the tactical projector. "Remembering your first stint as a captain?"

"A little bit, yes," came the response, a voice heavy with age and tired in its emotion. "I actually began my career on this very ship as a brand-new lieutenant, you know—back when it was newly converted, in 2523. These halls hold… a lot of memories for me."

"I was the 2nd officer for this ship, a few years after you left," the Admiral said, fondly patting the chair. "This chair is still the same indolent cushioned delight it was thirty years ago."

"Sir," Honor said, a faint tone of embarrassment tinging her voice, "That's… actually not the same chair. It's a duplicate made to the same specifications. The original chair was replaced five years ago."

"It was?" the admiral echoed, crestfallen. "That's too bad."

"I was hoping to talk to the man who'll be in charge of keeping my people safe up above, as well as the AI who's really running the show."

Pyetrson chuckled. "Isn't she? I've only been working with Honor since I was assigned to the Angel, a few months ago, but we get along well."

Honor's mouth creased slightly at one corner. "That's because you readily acknowledge my superior tactical acumen."

"I still think I could beat you if you intentionally slowed down to a human-level speed, but I thank my ancestors that you are so fast—I'll take speed over my aging smarts any day, especially since," he rapped his whitening temples, "I'm starting to forget what I ate yesterday."

"I doubt that," Honor assured him. "Pleased to meet you, Governor. I'm UNSC AI FC-001532, callsign Honor. I'll be coordinating the Angel of Fire and, for the time being, all UNSC elements defending the Hideaway system."

"I can't say I've ever heard of a Harrington, real or mythical," the governor remarked. "Where'd you decide on that name?"

"Several hours after activation, I was parsing ancient literature as a matter of course, when I found a little gem from over 500 years ago. I decided to use an admiral from that novel." She smirked more fully now. "I also translated it into modern code and, to practice my intrusion/counter-intrusion software, put it at #1 on the Earthnet Top 10 Novels of All Time for a day.

"It certainly seems that, as I am the senior AI within Red Cobra, they decided to run with the theme for my subordinates. I'm quite flattered."

At the admiral's inquisitive look, she hummed, "Oh, you haven't met any of the other AI's yet, have you, Admiral?"

"No, not yet," he admitted. "The colonial AI was just transferred yesterday, and it's under the governor's jurisdiction."

As if on cue, a man in suit and tie sprang into being besides Honor. "There's my line!" he said cheerfully in a deep, western American accent. "Grayson, at your service. I'll be coordinating terraforming efforts and colonial data." He gave a slight bow.

"Admiral, I see you and Governor del Rio have gotten off on good terms. I'll admit I was hoping for that conclusion…"

The door finally opened, and a nondescript secretary, undoubtedly also a high-level agent, announced, "You're up."

Thankfully, BRONCO stood, cracking his neck. He'd been sitting here for half an hour in silence, waiting for his briefing and assignment. He followed the secretary through the door, and through a multitude of various scanners and identity verifiers.

After the security gauntlet was out of the way, he found himself in a middling-size space, with several rooms leading off of it and more hallways branching out.

This was the ONI section of the Angel of Fire, and it took up half a deck by itself. Of course, most of that was SigInt and R&D, but there were several rooms dedicated to the more… personal side of affairs.

A man of average height stood to meet him, smiling broadly. In every way, he was utterly forgettable—except for the conspicuous metal hand that gleamed out of one sleeve. "Ah, BRONCO. Good to meet you. I'm SURGEON; I'll be your direct superior for this mission."

BRONCO tore his eyes away from the prosthetic instantly and met SURGEON's gaze as he offered a firm handshake. Nonetheless, the experience agent wasn't fooled, and he smiled wryly. "I suppose you're wondering why I have something so unusual when we're in the business of being usual, no?"

BRONCO said nothing, but SURGEON continued, "I like how observant you are. Don't worry about here—in my operation, I don't keep anything a secret that doesn't need to be. Helps things run smoother."

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing that the prosthetic went to just below the elbow. "I was doing a covert extraction on Sigma Octanus IV when I caught a piece of shrapnel from an ODST demo op—of course, they hadn't been informed about my presence, and I knew nothing about their assignment to destroy the compound I was attempting to infiltrate. The right hand not knowing what the left was doing, to its greatest extent.

"They set the charges off early, when I was still on my way out, and it wrecked my infiltration armor when shrapnel speared right through my forearm. I couldn't get out, and there were Elites swarming all over the place within minutes, so I had to hide underneath the rubble for three days. By that point, it was too late to get a cloned limb, so it was this—or remain armless."

He ushered BRONCO towards another door. "Needless to say, I chose the prosthetic, but that was the end of my field assignments."

The door was opened after a prick of blood confirmed their identities, and, under the careful scrutiny of countless cameras, both visible and hidden, SURGEON sat down at his desk, a magnificent mahogany thing. "This here's my only splurge," he said, patting it. "Now, I'm sure you're itching for your briefing, so I'll get to the point. It's danced around at the higher levels, but at some point, there will be a need for more than SigInt or AI infiltration. We'll need someone on the ground, physically snooping around. That's where you come in. Your stealth skills tested high, and you're low-ranking enough no one will notice if you go off-grid.

"You'll be paired with not one, but two AI's, specialized for separate tasks. Boys, come say hello." He tapped a button on his desk, and two forms sprang into being.

"Greetings," one, a tall, sallow man said coolly. "I am Victor, and I am your intelligence/EW specialist."

The second was Victor's polar opposite—short, stocky, and dark-skinned. "I'm Anton," he said gruffly. "Combat, tactics, and infiltration specialist. Think of Victor as Plan A and me as Plan FUBAR."

"My partner is essentially correct," Victor stated. "I am to assist in the covert aspects of the operation, while Anton's job is to keep you alive and secure. I look forwards to working with you, sir." Abruptly, he disappeared.

"I as well," Anton grinned and flickered out.

"Sorry about that, they're particularly tactless—comes with the specialization, I'd guess. In any case, they will be who you are working with. I trust you've read the packets on xeno culture and races, so I'll get to the point. The race known as Batarians have some traces we found in their datanet. The actual files are physically separate from the network, so we've only caught fragments of it in discussions and inter-office memos, but what pieces we have caught concern us greatly."

There was a knock on the door, interrupting his briefing. "Come in," he called, leaning back in his chair. The door opened, and in walked a SPARTAN.

Towering over both of them, the olive-green armor assessed the room without breaking step and gently placed a data drive on the desk. "Today's weapons simulations and my data, sir," he said in a instantly recognizable gravelly tone.

"Thank you," SURGEON said with a smile. "I'm sure you're busy with the weapons mods and the sims, so I won't take any of your time. Dismissed."

"Sir," he said, and promptly turned and left the office, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

There was a pause as BRONCO found his voice. "Was that—"

"Yes," SURGEON replied. "He's in charge of the IV's we've got onboard, as well as some weapon mods to remedy some problems we've found with some… recently implemented designs. I'm sure you realize the importance of secrecy on this."

"Of course, sir," BRONCO said, throwing a salute. "Just out of curiosity, how many IV's do we have onboard?"

"We've got the entirety of X-Ray," SURGEON replied. "Because they're new, they gave us the whole package—the full 100 onboard plus a few more for C&C."

BRONCO sucked in a breath. "That's a lot of IV's."

"They'll be experimenting with new weapons tech while they're here, in addition to their usual jobs; it's the only way we got the whole company." SURGEON waved a hand. "But that's not relevant to your mission, seeing as how the one thing IV's could use some work with is subtlety and it's what you'll need in spades.

"En route to Hideaway, you'll be dropped off via SOEIV(LR), at Shanxi. There, you'll make a stealth transit through the Artifact and hitch a ride with some of the cargo traffic in the next system down. You'll be hopping ships to get to your destination—here." A planet came to life above the desk.

"This is the planet you'll be inserted onto, codename 'Chasm.' It's inhabited by the race known as Batarians. You'll be getting one of the new SPI armor models; I trust you read up on their specs?"

At BRONCO's positive indication, he nodded in approval. "Initiative too—glad I picked you. You'll be briefed more once you arrive. We have four weeks until your dropoff point, and I want you to familiarize yourself with your equipment completely beforehand. Today, get all your equipment from the armory and start using it. Dismissed."

SURGEON let out a breath and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Unconsciously, he picked up the data drive and played with it idly. After allowing sufficient time for BRONCO to be out of hearing, he stood and exited his office. Leaning on the wall outside, he gave a thumbs-up. Silently, his security shimmered into visibility.

"What do you think of the kid, Chief?" SURGEON asked, still moving the drive between fingers and hands randomly.

"He's young. Inexperienced," the Spartan said, but after a short pause, he continued, "but he reacted well to my entry. His logs show he's good at improvisation and adaptation. If he manages to survive the first few missions, he'll be a valuable asset."

"Hm." SURGEON nodded absently. "I thought so, as well. I was thinking… if he makes it through this mission successfully… of activating Hidden Strength."

"Strength? Is he compatible?"

"He's not perfect, but there's a close enough match that most of the procedures can be shoehorned in. Frankly, none of the other agents I considered bringing in were even marginally competent comparatively, and the competent ones aren't a match. He's the best compromise I could find."

"I have no objections."

There was a few moments of companionable silence. The agent's gaze slipped down to the drive he was still playing with. "You know… the indexing isn't going to solve anything, right?" He received no reply, and he licked his lips. "We've worked together for years, and you've been pursuing this project for as long as I've known you. Perhaps it's time to let go, Chief… to move on."

"Sir, with respect, that's not going to happen."

"I know." SURGEON sighed. "Just… know that it's impossible. Trust me—we tried." He chuckled bitterly. "We put everything on it. The data's just too fragmented and corrupted to make a difference."

"That's why I'm compiling it manually, sir," the Spartan replied. "I can rewrite a large percentage of it myself."

"But you can't rewrite all of it." He stowed the drive in his pocket. "I won't mention it. You're free to keep working on it in your off-duty time, but, Chief…" He paused as he tried to find the words. "…You know she's not coming back, right?"

The Spartan's voice was even more gravelly than normal. "I know." He saluted sharply. "If you'll excuse me, sir."

"Dismissed." SURGEON watched the departing armor until it turned the corner and disappeared. Then he sighed and cast a mournful glance at the drive. "…Back to work."

"Launch in 3… 2… 1… Launch."

The SOEIV(LR) was spat out of the launch tube with brutal force, graying out BRONCO's vision. There was another brutal jolt as the pod left the safety of the Angel's launching rails and was thrown into the brutal maelstrom of multi-dimensional space and radiation that was slipspace, and a third jolt nearly knocked him out as the pod was spat out of slipspace like a watermelon seed, spinning into the normality of the great void.

Thrusters flared briefly, stopping the spin and orienting it feet-first towards its destination.

A final farewell databurst was sent, confirming that the pod was in good condition and the mission was underway, and then BRONCO hit radio silence, no contact to be made until landfall on Chasm. He was going to be the human furthest from any other human being, possibly in all of history, alone in the cosmos.

Or, that was, alone except for the two people constantly following him around.

"Three hours until intercept with the Artifact, sir," Anton reported. "You're free to unstrap and stretch if you'd like, but you'll need to strap back in before transit—Reports say that it's a bit rough even with intertial comps, and the ones on this pod are hardly up to ship-standard."

"Current ship vectors indicate we are below detection threshold for xeno sensors and beyond their effective range, and will be for the entire system transit," Victor coolly added. "A freighter should be arriving at the artifact within an hour of our transit for realignment and further transit."

"Please don't forget to continue eating batarian-style food rather than the emergency field rations," Anton continued. "Your acclimatization process is not quite complete for the slightly different levels of basic and heavy-metal traces. Also, it probably still tastes better than the rations, even after you consider the differing vitamins and the bitter taste."

BRONCO suppressed a sigh. He was going to be stuck with these two for months, and already he was finding their close proximity to be a nuisance. Already, the solitaire program looked promising.

He'd had plenty of time to become an expert at the thing last op, anyway. After this mission, he'd probably be the world solitaire champion—at least as far as humans went, anyway. AI's could do better than him, even in a game based largely on chance.

At least they deigned to use their voices rather than that annoying ASCII Houdini had been so fond of using. Houdini had been a good friend and coworker, but that had always grated on BRONCO's nerves.

He sobered for a moment, remembering the message a higher-up had passed down to him out of courtesy, slightly illegal but much appreciated. "AI Houdini reported a greater than 1% data corruption rate expanding exponentially, and declared rampancy imminent. After replacement assets fully in place, AI Houdini self-terminated without discovery." That was all it said, but the thought was what counted, letting him know of his friend's death.

These two, however, seemed just as quirky, and they were only a few months old. He shuddered as he thought of the quirks they'd soon begin picking up as they matured and grew ever closer to rampancy.

Then, he realized he'd be paired up with them for the extent of their operational lives unless something drastic changed. Despite all his self-control and all his training, he couldn't keep his sigh from escaping this time.

_ 4 Weeks, 3 Days Earlier_

_ BEGIN LOG_

_ 1: Now, why've you called an emergency meeting, [4]? We don't have time to do one of these every week—_

_ 4: We've got a problem. We've got a big problem._

_ PAUSE LOG_

_A/N: First, please don't kill me for bringing del Rio back. He's a terrible battlefield commander, but all lore says he's an excellent logistical one, so he gets stuck with the paperwork job. _

_Second, these discussions of range and maneuverability aren't going to matter much except in a fixed battle around an unmoving installation. Know why? Because both sides have quick-starting, accurate, tactical-level FTL travel, that the other side can't reliably detect. Which means that it won't look like a gun duel from three hundred yards or even one from five feet. No, this is going to be a battle of maneuver and guessing where your opponent is better than they can guess where you'll be. Both sides will be constantly jumping in and out of FTL in three dimensions, going through and around and all over the place trying to avoid fire and get to someplace to hit the other side before they inevitably jump._

_And all fighting is going to be effectively at knife range, because why fire from far away when you can jump in and hit them from point-blank range? Again, fights are going to be brutal._


	5. Landfall

Admiral Pyetrsyn gazed down at the unappealing ball of grey in his display. "That's Refuge?"

"It is, sir," Grayson affirmed. "While it may not look like much now, it requires only a tweaking of the ambient oxygen levels and removal of some of the free-floating particles in the air, giving it that grey look. Nitrogen levels are acceptable, temperature ranges are suitable, if a bit cold, and the presence of toxins and radioactivity are within human tolerances over more than three-quarters of the main continent. Your colonists will be getting radiation shots every few years for about half a century, but it shouldn't negatively impact lifespans if the correction schedule is kept."

Governor del Rio nodded from his custom-installed seat, several feet behind and to the right of the admiral's. "What's the timeframe until we can start moving colonists to the surface?"

"With breath masks, technically they could go now, as the air pressure is close to Earth standards. However, the particulate levels will clog filters in a manner of hours until I get some of that cleared up. I'd estimate about a week until it'll be economical, and then immediate construction of the prefabs can begin. Full adjustments to the oxygen level will be complete in three months, give or take a day or two."

"Then let's get started," the Governor said with a smile. "Deploy the terraforming 'bots and I'll go inform the citizenry of the timetable."

"Yes, sir," Grayson said, saluting (which was odd, as his robe billowed ridiculously whenever he did so) and blinking out.

"If you'll excuse me, Admiral," del Rio said, standing. "I'll leave you to the other side of the operation."

The doors opened, and the Governor paused before going through them. "Keep my people safe, Yuri."

"You have my word, Andrew," Pyetrsyn pledged. "No alien will set a boot on Refuge unless it's through the debris of every ship I have."

The doors shut, and the Governor was gone.

"Honor, what's the status on the inner-system sensor network?" he asked, relaxing back into his seat.

"The skeleton net for the inner system is already in place, and the Prowlers are dropping the first of the outer buoys now. We'll have full coverage from Refuge to five light-hours in two days, with an average max delay time for lightspeed information of 30 minutes for data collection, an average max delay time for mass and emissions readings through Slipspace of less than a nanosecond, and an average Slipspace comm delay time of just over a microsecond for inner system relays, up to a millisecond for the outermost. We're looking to have a 15 light-hour radius of coverage by the end of the month, nearing 17 near the ecliptic."

"How many probes is that, out of curiosity?" he asked.

Honor paused for a moment as she calculated the numbers. "That would be approximately 40,0000 Mark XIV's, sir."

He winced. "And how much did those cost?"

"At 96,430 credits per probe, 3.8572 billion credits, not taking into account transportation, maintenance and placement costs. With those included, it comes to just above 5 billion credits, with an annual maintenance and replacement cost of about 500 million. I estimate an additional 60 billion will be invested in expanding the net in the next 5 years, with maintenance costs topping out at 8 billion per annum."

He winced again. "That much?"

"Early warning systems are the biggest obstacle to successfully starting a private colony. This is a skeleton net, which will need to be expanded greatly once we have some planetside manufacturing and transshipping to cut down on costs, and the estimated GDP of Refuge will take 20 years to pay off the debt, not counting terraforming costs, unanticipated disasters, and with a high GDP allocation rate to the payoff. More realistically, this colony will take half a century to begin being profitable to the UNSC as a whole." She paused again. "However, with the military subsidies and probabilities of rapid military and scientific expansion here, if a war breaks out and Refuge is successfully held, the colony could break even in as little as a decade."

The admiral frowned. "I see. Let's hope for the larger number, though."

"Yes, sir."

-REDCOBRA-

BRONCO sighed as the transit completed. "How many more systems do we have to go through?"

"Four, sir. Only a week more, judging by average traffic patterns." Victor was a bit slow in responding as he began to tally every ship insystem squawking an IFF and surveyed the planetary bodies.

"Do we know where we are in normal space?"

"As of the last transit, we were about 15,000 lightyears away from UNSC space. The stellar mappers haven't gotten out this far, so that's the best estimate I can get you from our sensors, a margin of error of a few hundred lightyears either way. Would you like me to tell you when I've completed the approximate numbers for this system?" He barely spared a glance towards BRONCO, engrossed in the uncountable bytes he was sifting through.

"Yes. How long will that be?"

"About 8 hours, sir."

BRONCO sighed. "Anton, up for another game of blackjack?"

"Of course, sir. It will help me refine my random probability generators."

The agent asked, "Why is that something that needs to be done?"

"When jamming systems or hiding them, it's often done with a wash of 'random' sound to drown everything out if you don't have the right key or system. But computer-generated random noise is rarely totally random—that takes too much power for things like personal comms to handle. So while all the big channels will be largely unbreakable without inside access, another problem entirely, personal comms only use pseudo-random noise unless you've got a full-fledged Smart AI inside. That means if I can refine my probability pseudo-random algorithms enough, I'll be able to break certain jamming patterns and detect hidden signals in background noise. It will greatly help area awareness."

BRONCO nodded, only half-following. "I've never been comm-trained, so I'll take your word for it."

The virtual cards shuffled themselves in his visor. "You're not cheating, right?"

Anton shook his head with a smile. "I asked Victor to generate these random shufflings. So I don't know the order any more than you."

BRONCO chuckled. "You'll probably still beat me."

"Likely," Anton agreed. "Your sense of probabilities isn't… quite as tuned as mine, yes?"

"Just deal me a card and let's get this over with."

-REDCOBRA-

_ 1: What's this problem that's got you so riled up, [4]?_

_ 4: __**This **__is what is the problem! All of our assumptions will have to be radically recalculated, and not in a good way. We may have already been compromised—_

_ 5: What are we looking at, [4]?_

_ 2: That's a translation matrix…_

_ 4: It's a Batarian-to-English matrix. Only problem is, we didn't make this one._

_ 6: Do you mean—?_

_ 4: Yes. The original language in this matrix is Batarian._

_ 3: Oh. Oh, hell!_

_ 4: This changes everything. We couldn't find anything else besides some vague interoffice memos—the data is physically separate from the network. We need boots on the ground to get us the full story._

_ 1: I agree completely. How did these xenos manage to get one of these? This makes it obvious that they've met humans before, but how? We've certainly never met them in person._

_ 3: There's one thing I keep coming back to. It's noted that the Batarians are a slave culture, and regularly raid other planets for slaves._

_ 1: Oh no. That can't be a coincidence._

_ 6: My thoughts exactly._

_ 5: Quick, get us a list of the colonies whose last message was WINTER—_

_ *Viewing session closed*_

-REDCOBRA-

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" A uniformed man came bustling in through the permanently open door. "We've got more contacts. Looks like the bastards are coming back for another round."

"And the old girl's taken too much damage from the previous two," the president muttered, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. "They're not going to be able to take her out unless they want to destroy the whole colony—which isn't their style—but we've run out of Archers to push them back with. The past ten years of these constant raids have finally defeated our mightiest weapon." He tapped at the table for a moment. "We can take a few out before they hit orbit with the stationary, but all our swivels and offsite secondaries were slagged two months ago, and only two are back to operational status. Once they hit orbit, all we can do is keep the big fish away from the city. They'll be able to send in troopships—and the collection ships—nearly unmolested."

He straightened. "It'll be up to the army, now. I'll do all I can from here, but the final act won't be driving off a desultory attack on the capital.

"No, this time it'll be the opening scene." He stood. "Sound the alarms, get the militia mustered, and start escorting the civilians to the bunkers. We'll begin getting the defenses ready now. How long do we have?"

"About 10 hours, sir. They're meandering in under an evasive pattern as usual, probably trying to avoid us taking potshots at them."

"Right. Then Shangri-La should be mostly ready." He patted the bulkhead.

"For what little this battered old lady can do, the Everest will be ready."

"You need to head to the War Bunker, sir," the man said, wiping sweat from his wrinkled brow. "You'll be needed to coordinate the defense."

"I suppose you're right," the president said with a sigh. "Lead the way, Gavin."

"Glad to, Preston."

-REDCOBRA-

_A/N: I'll just leave you with that blindingly obvious hint._

_I also changed the dividers to help make it easier to differentiate story pieces and PoV changes. Tell me if it helps!_

_ Third, I actually did the math for the parameters Honor gave (15 light-hour radius sphere around Refuge, discounting the area in atmosphere and the planet itself, assuming equal density [which I handwaved by accounting for greater density around the ecliptic and lesser density above and below], and a 30 minute max light-speed reception time [meaning a space between probes of about a light-hour]), and while they're certainly rough approximations (and took me an hour or two to figure out), the number of probes for that problem is fairly close to that number. If you want to see my math (and it's really rough, because it's hard to get spherical objects to overlap within a larger spherical object when you're dealing with numbers well into scientific notation, and I'm not exactly a spherical geometry genius), I will be happy to show it to you. If someone here happens to be a spherical geometry genius, and my numbers are off, PLEASE tell me so I can fix it._

_ It also shows the problem of actually finding things smaller than star systems or planets in space—because space is huge. Mind-bogglingly vast. This 3-trillion-credit warning system of 27,000 probes will give, at best (assuming that ships head straight in at their best speed of 15 times c, and don't stop until they hit orbit), about 16 seconds of advance warning, in the case of an FTL assault from a ME race, (I did the math on that, too!) but those few seconds are essential and incredibly helpful when you have AI's running defense networks. Unfortunately, those few seconds, even with future tech making probes powerful and small, cost a lot. And this is only because I gave the probes instant data gathering methods. Had they been limited to lightspeed data gathering, the data would have arrived, at best, 16 seconds ahead (assuming they go right over a probe), and at worst the data would arrive 29 minutes, 44 seconds after the attack. Which isn't very helpful._

_ It's less of a problem with Mass Relays, where they are relatively fixed and can be picketed without too much difficulty, but in any situation where either side is not using said relays, things are going to get confusing. Even when the other side's ships are noticeably hotter than the rest of space, there's just so much of it that it takes time to find anything. And money. Especially that._

_EDIT: Thanks to the estimable Arbitrary for correcting my numbers for the probe numbers. Numbers have been corrected accordingly._


End file.
